


Light of the World

by theherocomplex



Series: Commander Eliza Shepard [7]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gen, the Omega years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light begets light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swaps55](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaps55/gifts).



> I did a fic giveaway on my Tumblr to celebrate writing _Ghost_ for six months, and swaps55 won. She asked for more Hannah Shepard, and since it was getting to be Christmas, this popped out. 
> 
> Spoilers for part one of _Ghost_ , though nothing major.

Garrus tried not to pry into the squad’s lives too much. 

Easy enough, in theory: most of the squad seemed content to reveal themselves in stages, a sentence here or there in the middle of conversation that he hoarded and added together when he was alone, with Shepard. He listened when they wanted to talk, and never pressed for more information. Not once, no matter how badly he wanted to  _understand._ The squad would fill in the blanks when they were ready. 

When Weaver came up the stairs from the tunnels, Ripper and Monteague in tow, her arms full of crates and rolls of shiny paper, Garrus barely caught himself before he spit out a question. Shepard leaned against his shoulder, her fingers trailing along the inside of his cowl, and he shivered at the light pressure. He cleared his throat and tossed a grin at Weaver. 

“Welcome back,” he said, and went back to his datapad. Shepard hummed and murmured something he didn’t catch, and couldn’t ask about. He glanced back up at the humans, who stood clustered in the doorway. “Thought we were all set for supplies. Get everything you need?”

Weaver had frozen in place. The crates nearly slid out of her arms, but she caught them before they tumbled to the floor. “Shit!” she yelped. “We didn’t think —  _don’t look! Don’t look!”_  She sprinted for the stairs and took them two at a time, with Ripper and Monteague at her heels. He heard the door to the squad’s room slide open, then the clatter of footsteps overhead. 

“What was I not supposed to be looking at?” Garrus asked when the common room was empty again. Shepard grinned at him from her seat on the arm of his chair. “Should I be suspicious?” Shepard’s grin grew. “What am I saying? It’s Weaver. Of course I should be suspicious.” 

“It’s Christmas,” said Shepard. “Human holiday. It’s a big deal. I think Weaver’s just behind schedule when it comes to Christmas shopping.” She hummed. “You don’t remember hearing about it at C-Sec?” 

He did, but only in passing: human co-workers requesting the day off, and the grumbling of turians and asari who had to pick up the shifts. The day itself meant nothing to Garrus. He usually picked up a shift on principle, to help out his coworkers — and because life on the Citadel got expensive, even for someone frugal by nature  _and_  by training. 

“I heard about it, but I don’t remember much. Something about presents? Or is that Halloween?” 

“Halloween’s the one where we dress up like monsters or princesses and go door-to-door begging for candy. Christmas is the one about the presents. Well,” she said, twisting her neck back to stare at the ceiling, “not  _just_  presents. It’s about family too. Religion, for some people. Sort of an all-purpose holiday.” 

“Ah.” He set his datapad to the side and shifted to watch Shepard. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her face soft and distant, even as her fingers kept tracing circles in his cowl. He wished he’d changed into his civvies, so her cool touch could play along his hide and not his undersuit. The thought of wearing anything but his armor on watch made his years of training cry a protest, but he was so tired, and she was so inviting. 

Garrus compromised by shifting, and curved his neck into her hand. “So which were you?”

“Hmm?” Shepard blinked, coming back to herself with the instant clarity he remembered from the _Normandy._ He would find her in the mess, or the workout room, eyes focused but soft. Anything slight sound or movement brought her back immediately, wary and clear-eyed, like an animal startled from cover. After the first few months, that look had faded when she recognized him, and she would smile a sharp welcome. Or challenge, he’d never been quite sure. “Which was I what?” 

“A monster, or princess?” 

She hummed again, but her eyes gleamed as she leaned in, close enough for her mouth to brush his cheek when she spoke. “Do you really think I’m the princess type, Garrus?” she whispered, and nipped his mandible. 

Before Garrus could think of a reply — to be fair, the hint of teeth had been a cheap distraction, and they both knew it — Sidonis and Butler came back from patrol, and Shepard vanished. 

*** 

Later, after his sweat cooled and Shepard eased around behind him, Garrus remembered Christmas. 

Turians had their holidays — commemorating great victories, honoring the fallen. They celebrated births and weddings, and mourned at funerals. Family holidays varied in importance, but they all had their special days, set aside from the common run of years. 

Nothing like this  _Christmas_ , though. Another human oddity he had to learn — good thing he had an expert within reach. 

Garrus traced the curve of muscle in Shepard’s thigh with a talon. He laid with his back against her chest, cradled between her legs. Shepard’s hands linked over his carapace, with her cheek resting against his and her hair falling in a curtain around his head. 

“So it’s about family,” he said. “This holiday.”

“Christmas? Yeah. There’s a whole religious backstory — birth of a savior, new hope, promise of eternal life — but my mom and I didn’t really care about that. I think she had a bad experience with a church growing up, and she just didn’t want to deal with it ever again.” Shepard sighed, a low thrum in her throat. “We still celebrated, though. Just us.” 

Garrus nodded, weighing her words. Shepard rarely volunteered information about her life outside the Alliance. It had taken peeling back three search layers, carefully worded and erased as soon as he finished, to find out her mother was still alive and still on active duty. The picture of Hannah Shepard — short, olive-skinned, with close-cropped grey hair and ink-dark eyes — had startled him so badly he’d nearly walked away from the terminal without clearing his results. He shouldn’t have pried; his curiosity had overtaken his good sense, and all he ended up with was sick guilt over trying the extranet search to begin with.

But what he’d seen ended up in his head for good. No matter how hard he tried, Garrus couldn’t reconcile Hannah Shepard, brisk and healthy even in her seventies, with her daughter’s hungry face and pale eyes. It gave him a chill now, imagining Shepard — Shepard  _young_  — sharing presents with her mother. 

The mother Shepard had come back from watching with red eyes and rough voice. Death had not been merciful to Shepard. 

He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to tell me more,” he said, stroking the back of her knees. “I was just curious.” 

“It’s fine.” Shepard brushed her lips against his fringe, and he shivered. What he thought might be an attempt to change the subject — and he would have let her, since she had chosen such an enticing method — turned out to be a pause, nothing more. “It’s just — I miss her. It was just us for so long, and I always got a little homesick during the holidays if I couldn’t see her. We managed to get together about every other year, so it wasn’t that bad.” 

“That’s good,” he said, when Shepard fell silent. He didn’t want to push too far and have her close up against him, but the glimpse into Shepard’s life — given to him in her own words, her own voice — made warmth spin in his hands. “Having that time.” 

“Yeah.” Shepard shifted her legs to pull him closer. Garrus closed his eyes. “The best times were when I was a kid, though. I mean, don’t get me wrong, drinking wine with your mom in the best hotel you can both afford is great, but there’s something about going to sleep Christmas Eve, knowing what the next day is…” He felt her smile against his fringe. “If I were that type of person, I’d say it was magic.” 

He laughed, quiet and secret. “But we both know you’re not that kind of person.” 

“Not a bit.” She sighed again, but the sound rolled out of her in a smooth, happy wave. “The best one was when I was seventeen,” she said, as Garrus started to doze. He blinked awake, the warmth in his hands spreading. “The best Christmas.” 

“Tell me,” he murmured. 

“We were living on the  _SSV_   _Eleanor Roosevelt_ …”

*** 

“…but we are  _going_ to the Citadel for Christmas. You have fifteen minutes to get packed, so _move._ ” 

Shepard opened her mouth, the  _what’ll you do if I don’t_  already forming, but thought twice when her mother started to turn around. Her protests about spending the holiday on the Citadel had been half-serious, more to get a reaction than out of real resistance, but one look at the set of her mother’s shoulders sent her flying into her room. 

Christmas or not, Hannah Shepard was in no mood for smart talk. 

“What should I bring?” she yelled, after losing five minutes to staring into her closet. “Something dressy? Workout clothes? My practice rifle?” 

Hannah made an impatient noise from her own bedroom. “Dressy yes, workout no. And if you’re talking, you’re not packing.” 

“ _Fine.”_ Shepard hauled her travel bag from under her bed. It looked a lot smaller than the last time she had used it. “How long are we going for anyways? I’m missing key details here, Mom.” 

The only response was a thick swell of Spanish curses, so Shepard grabbed four of everything and stuffed the bundle into her bag without another word. She made it out of her room with six minutes to spare, and by the look on Hannah’s face, even that was pushing it. 

*** 

Even from her seventeen-year-old perspective, Shepard had to admit her mother had few flaws. Hannah snored, and got overly competitive about crossword puzzles, but the worst of all was her inability — genetic, Shepard believed — to ask for directions. 

“Mom, shouldn’t we get a map?” She toed a line in the floor with her boot, trying not to gape too obviously at the knife-point glitter of skyline lights. After the tight efficiency of the  _Eleanor’_ s rooms and corridors, the sudden explosion of space and clean air made her dizzy. “It’s uh, pretty big.”

Hannah waved a dismissal, her jaw set, and Shepard stifled a groan. “I’ve been here before, sweetie. It’s a bit of a walk, but you’ll live.”

Three hours of walking Zakera Ward later, Shepard’s hunger started to win out over her sense of self-preservation. If she told her mother they were lost, chances were quite high that Hannah would glare her out of existence. 

 _Look on the bright side,_ Shepard thought, as her stomach rumbled again.  _If she kills me, I won’t be hungry anymore._

“Mom, I think we’re —“ 

“If you say lost,” Hannah said through gritted teeth, “I will end you.” 

Shepard chewed the inside of her lip. “I think we’re exactly where we need to be,” she said. 

“Smart kid.” Hannah shifted her bag to her other shoulder and bumped Shepard’s hip with her own. “Come on. There’s a restaurant down a ways. We’ll fill up and keep walking.” 

“As long as it’s not dextro.” Like the last two restaurants they had passed. Everything smelled heavenly, but spending Christmas on the toilet was not in her game plan. She had no idea if this Christmas had a game plan, other than being lost on the Citadel. She plodded along after her mother, hands stuffed in the pockets of her hoodie. 

“You’re slouching, sweetie.” 

“I know.” Still, Shepard straightened on reflex. “How’d you know?” 

“A mother always knows,” said Hannah, and Shepard heard the smug smile she knew her mother had plastered over her face. “Ah! We have a winner! Chinese food.” 

“Oh, thank God.” Shepard groaned. “I want ten of everything.” She could smell lo mein and dumplings, and heard Lamia scolding her for going so long without even a ration bar.  _You’ll stuff yourself and be sick and bloated for days. Better to eat regular meals and never over-indulge._ She told Lamia to shut up, and fixed her eyes on the restaurant. Maybe they had scallion pancakes. 

“Let’s just see what they have first — oh, wait.” Hannah stopped short, and Shepard bounced off her back, eyes still focused on the Chinese restaurant. 

“Why are we waiting? Mom?” Shepard peered at her mother’s face. “What is it?” 

“I may have made a slight miscalculation when we got off the  _Eleanor_ ,” said Hannah carefully. “Because that’s our hotel, right there.” 

“Oh my g— _Mom.”_ Shepard smothered a laugh. “Mom. Three hours of walking is not a slight miscalculation.” 

“It has  _not_ been three hours.” 

Shepard pulled up the display on her omni-tool, still trying not to laugh. “Three hours, four minutes, and sixteen — no, seventeen seconds.” She flipped the display closed and grinned down at her mother. “Like that? It’s my impersonation of an Alliance engineer.” 

“All right, smart ass, let’s go. I’ll make it up to you by buying lunch.” 

“You were going to do that anyways, so how is that —“ Hannah hip-checked her and she stumbled, arms flailing as she caught her balance. “Okay, fine. Lunch it is.”

*** 

Their hotel room turned out to be double-booked. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Shepard dropped her head onto the counter and sighed. “There’s no room for us at the inn?” 

Hannah stepped on her foot and turned a sweet smile on the asari desk attendant. “I booked this room almost four months ago,” she said. “I don’t understand how there could have been a mix-up.” 

The attendant shrugged, an embarrassed smile on her face. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Captain Shepard. And as you can see, we’re quite full. We’re hosting several retreats at the moment.”

“Do you have a stable?” Shepard lifted her head. “I can sleep in a manger.” 

By the way the asari smiled, Shepard could tell her translator had glitched on  _manger_. “I’m afraid we all have left are our VIP suites,” she said. “Which I would be happy to offer you —“ 

“Free of charge,” said Hannah, just as the asari said “— a slight discount.” Hannah’s smile went razor-sharp, and Shepard covered her mouth to hide her own grin. Seeing her mother in action — that was Christmas and her birthday all at once. The asari blinked, mouth hanging open, but when Hannah kept smiling, all she could do was nod. 

“Free of charge,” agreed the asari, looking like she had just stepped in varren shit. 

*** 

Garrus waited as Shepard fell silent. He felt her smile against the top of his head. 

“Shepard, I don’t see how getting lost makes for a best of anything.” 

She sighed and slipped a hand over his waist. “I’m getting there, Garrus. I need to set the scene first. Didn’t you ever have trips with your family that went wrong?” 

“Not really, no,” he said, leaning back into her. The few family trips they’d gone on had been mainly due to his mother’s efforts, and she was too precise a creature to let anything fall to chance or go wrong. “Our family trips were mainly to visit important historic sites. My mother loves that sort of thing.” 

“What’s she like?” asked Shepard. “Anything like your dad?” He felt her smile twist against his plates. “Anything like  _you?_ ” 

Garrus laughed quietly. “No, nothing like either of us. She’s quiet. Serious.” A brief ache slid through him, feather-light and cold. “Very patient. She had to be.” 

Shepard traced his hip with a finger. He caught her wrist and held it. “Tell me more,” he said, before she could ask about his family and turn the ache into regret. She slipped her hand through his, weaving their fingers together.

*** 

From the window of their suite — named after some obscure asari matriarch, whose portrait hung over the beds — Shepard could see the ring of the Presidium. 

“Did you ever get to go up there?” she asked, tracing the ring on the glass. 

Hannah opened the minibar. “Up where? The Presidium? Only once, and it was for work. Had to take an OSD up to the human embassy. That was what, twelve years ago?” She lifted a bottle to the light and frowned at it. “Nothing is labeled.”

“What was it like?” 

“Like? Busy, mostly. I wasn’t up there long, but that’s what I remember most. Everyone running around, everyone on a mission of utmost importance. We were still just a small embassy then — one ambassador and a few aides — and they all just looked shell-shocked.” Hannah put the bottle back in the minibar and straightened, hands in the small of her back. “Strange days. A whole new galaxy — a whole new  _confusing_  galaxy. But it was Christmas, and all I wanted was to be back home with you.” 

Shepard jammed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, her palms aching. Teasing, joking — that was how they showed love in the Shepard family, and she floundered when it came to pure affection. Like right now. “So you’re trying to make up for it now?” she asked, but the joke fell flat, muffled by the heavy curtains and carpet. “That’s — that’s not how I meant it, Mom.” 

“I know, but you’re right.” Shepard heard Hannah pad barefoot over the rug toward her, and a moment later, Hannah’s rough fingers brushed Shepard’s cheek. “It’s the last Christmas we’ll have together, for a while at least. This time next year, you’ll have enlisted. I wanted something special.” 

Shepard leaned into the touch, and breathed in her mother’s smells: lemon hand balm, ceramics, sweat, metal. “Getting lost was pretty special,” she said, and bit her lip. Her mother deserved more than the usual back-and-forth. “I would’ve been happy on the  _Eleanor_ , Mom. Just hanging out with you. That’s good.” She closed her eyes. “It’s great.” 

Hannah made a sound balanced between a sigh and a laugh, and tugged Shepard down by her shoulders to kiss her forehead. “It is. But we’ve got somewhere to be, so get dressed. Dressed _up_.” 

*** 

Dressing up meant heels, and tights, and a dark blue velvet dress that she would probably outgrow by her birthday. Shepard teetered on the heels, used to going barefoot for class and at home. A look in the mirror showed her nothing new: a collection of sharp knees and elbows, a heavy fall of hair to her breasts, and thin, papery skin. At least the blue of her dress didn’t make her look more washed out than usual. Small mercies. 

“Mom, I’m ready,” she yelled, coming out of the bathroom. “Where are we going — wow, you look great.” 

Hannah smiled, fiddling with an earring. “A compliment? It must be Christmas.” She swore under her breath and threw the earring on the table. “Forget it. I’ll start a new trend. One earring only.” 

“Let me help.” Shepard picked her way over the carpet. “You probably let the holes close up again, so this might hurt.” She pushed the hook through the hole, wincing as her mother winced. “Sorry! All over now.” 

“Thanks.” Hannah turned to face the full length mirror and wound an arm around Shepard’s waist. “We do clean up nice, don’t we?” 

Shepard nodded, her throat pinching closed. She towered over her mother, too thin and too pale against Hannah’s warm butter-yellow shift and red jacket. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” said Hannah loftily. “You ready? All right, let’s move out.” 

The desk attendant gave them a strained smile as they passed through the lobby, and Shepard grinned back at her over Hannah’s head, all teeth and manic cheer and  _thank you very much the room is awesome!_  Before she could call “Merry Christmas!” over her shoulder, Hannah pinched her side. 

“Don’t even think about it, sweetie,” said Hannah, as Shepard shut her mouth so quickly she bit the tip of her tongue. “At least try to behave, it’s Christmas.” 

Shepard sighed, tugged along by her mother toward the elevator, feeling out of place in her heels and nice dress. She was used to the narrow walls of their ship, whichever one her mother was stationed on, and wearing her pajamas all day. For seventeen years, Christmas had been about sleeping in, and eating too much, and falling asleep on the couch with her head on Hannah’s shoulder. And yes, it had been about presents too, giving and receiving, trying not to fidget as Hannah opened each package with an engineer’s care. 

A quiet day. A day of rest for just the two of them, while they held the rest of the galaxy at arms’-length. 

 _It’ll all change next year._ Shepard slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders as they squeezed into the elevator heading to the Presidium.  _Mom could have a new ship by then, and I’ll be — who knows? We can call each other, but there’ll be so much space. It won’t be the same. Not ever again._ She pressed a little closer to Hannah. 

She didn’t regret her decision to enlist. She regretted the fight she and Hannah had had over it, but nothing else. The Alliance was where she belonged, the place she could do the most good. But enlisting meant the end of the quiet Christmases: no more waking up to find her stocking stuffed full and laid at the foot of her bed, no more eating smuggled shrimp and clams on the couch as they watched vids. 

No more Mom, small and proud, waiting for her to wake up so they could start breakfast. 

She blinked fast and hard, willing herself not to cry. Not now, not in public.  _Game face_ , she reminded herself, and straightened. Hannah gave her a sidelong, wry look, and squeezed Shepard’s arm. 

“Where’re we going?” Shepard asked, for the third time. Hannah shrugged and kept her silence. 

The  _where_  turned out to be a tiny, gleaming restaurant, set like a jewel into a side street on the Presidium. Shepard nearly walked past it, only seeing it when Hannah tugged her back toward the near-hidden door. Inside, a dour salarian scanned Hannah’s omni-tool with a sigh and waved them through, toward a second set of doors. 

“We’re not eating?” Shepard asked, gazing hopefully at a tray of desserts as it passed her, balanced on an asari server’s arm. 

“Not yet,” said Hannah. “I want to show you something first.” 

Shepard told her stomach to wait, even as it made an experimental growl, and let her mother lead her through the maze of tables. Her feet had already started to hurt. 

“Here we are.” The doors opened and Hannah stepped to the side and waved Shepard in. “You first.” 

She glanced at her mother, who grinned and nudged her, then stepped inside the room. 

Her first impression was  _light:_  pale violet, rich pink, dark, saturated red. The light shifted over her bare arms in gauzy, lazy waves as it filtered in through the window. 

_No, not a window. No glass. Just a barrier, then._

The viewing pane took up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, without a telltale shiver from the barrier to show anything separated her from the space between the Citadel arms. A table, set for five, took up the entire center of the room, but Shepard walked past it, eyes on the view. 

“Holy…”

Hannah stayed behind Shepard, her smile just visible on the edge of her vision. “It’s something, isn’t it?” 

“It’s incredible.” Shepard lifted a hand and let it fall. She felt small, infinitely small, with the arms of the wards spread on every side and thousands of lights glittering around her. “It’s a whole world to itself.” 

“It is,” Hannah agreed. “A very messy, troubled world at times. But beautiful. Makes you feel a bit insignificant, doesn’t it?” 

“A bit, yeah.” Shepard laughed. She pressed her hand against the barrier, ready for the zing in her palm, and watched the ripples flare outward. The gauzy layers of the nebula, violet and cerise and blood orange, shifted around the Citadel. “Like an ant in front of the Empire State Building.” 

“Nice metaphor. Especially since you haven’t seen it.” 

Shepard whipped around, too fast, and Hannah steadied her with a hand on her elbow. “Anderson?” 

He gave her a nod, the corners of his mouth twitching, before breaking into a grin and spreading his arms. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh my  _God.”_ Shepard crossed the room in three long strides and threw her arms around his neck. “I thought you were in the Traverse. What’re you doing here?” 

“Had to make a stop at the human embassy on my way back to Arcturus. Lucky thing I got the go-ahead from the brass for a few hours’ leave — the crew probably would’ve mutinied otherwise.” 

“Then you’re not running them hard enough, David,” said Hannah, raising up on tiptoes to kiss Anderson’s cheek. “My crews are always too busy to mutiny.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Anderson glanced around the room. “Very nice. Steven’s not here yet?” 

“Steven — Captain Hackett’s coming too?” Shepard turned wide eyes on her mother. “Is there something I’m missing? Some kind of reunion? Who else is coming?” 

Hannah glared at Anderson. “It’s a surprise,” she said, pointedly. Anderson deflated, to Shepard’s quiet glee. “Shall we sit down? I know Shepard is probably starving, even though we had Chinese food two hours ago.” 

“Four thousand calories a day, Mom,” said Shepard, still puzzling over the words  _It’s a surprise._ “So Anderson and Hackett are coming,” she said, as Anderson held out her chair. “Who else? Do I get a hint?” She searched her memory for possibilities; her mother had no living relatives, and all of Shepard’s friends were celebrating with their own families.

 _What do you know? One more place at the table, and the food’s all levo here, so Mom doesn’t have a surprise turian coming by. Maybe Jacobson? Or Mikhailovich?_  

“No hints,” said Hannah, spreading her napkin over her lap and opening up the menu. “I love this restaurant. So many nice touches. Actual menus!” She winked at Shepard. “Don’t give me that look, sweetie, you’ll find out soon enough.” 

Anderson coughed into his napkin, so Shepard glared at him instead. “You know,” she said accusingly. “Help me out. Just a hint.” 

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t risk it. Not even on Christmas.” He laughed. “I know better, especially after —“

“—Eridani,” Hannah finished for him. “I think the salmon sounds lovely, don’t you, David?” 

Shepard slumped down in her chair. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Don’t tell me.” She reached out for her wine glass — filled with sparkling cider, because her mother was cruel and had obviously called ahead. She sipped, tasting the cider in every corner of her mouth, but nearly choked when a fresh, clear voice called her name from the door.

“Your posture is a  _nightmare_. Five months without me and you’re already undoing all my good work.” 

When Shepard looked up, her pulse pounding in her wrists, Lamia beamed at her from the doorway, her arm linked through Hackett’s. 

“ _Lamia._ ” She stood up, hands clenched. “You —“ 

“Merry Christmas, Shepard,” said Lamia, her smile trembling at the edges. Hackett echoed her, smiling through his beard. 

Shepard wanted to move, to cross the room and hug Lamia within an inch of her life, and then do the same to Hackett, but her feet stayed rooted to the floor. So this was the reason for her mother’s rushing, and her insistence. 

 _I booked this room almost four months ago,_  Hannah had said at the hotel. Four months, to pull together four schedules? They only had a few hours together — for what?

For a meal among friends, shared in light and peace; for time spent not worrying, but laughing; for love, and rest. 

For family. 

Hannah’s smile gleamed at her in the changing light. Shepard swallowed hard, and held out her hand. Hannah took it and squeezed, hard enough to hurt. 

“Merry Christmas,” said Shepard. 

*** 

Three hours, in the end: that was all they had, before Anderson had to return to his ship and Hackett went back to the embassy. Not very much time at all, but Shepard felt an unspoken agreement pass through the group: they would ignore time, and spin out the night as long as they could. So Lamia still changed her order five times before she let the server go, and Hannah and Hackett bickered over wine choices, and Anderson told rambling stories about training on Palaven. 

Shepard listened, every heartbeat an ache, every flutter of her lungs a sting, so happy she couldn’t speak. 

This was it: the Christmas to look back on and say,  _yes, I was alive and I was happy, even though someday I will be neither of these things. But now, I am loved and I am safe, and this is the day to carry with me. This is the day to build my life on._

At the end, when all plates were empty and even Shepard was full, her mother pushed back her chair and stood, a wineglass in her hand. 

“I haven’t been to church in years,” she said slowly, “and I haven’t believed in God since well, my marriage.” Anderson and Hackett laughed, low and hidden in the dim light, and Hannah smiled wryly. “But the priest there said something I’ve always liked. He said,  _Light begets light._  I think about that a lot this time of year, light making more light. My world was very dark for a long time — not bad, not ugly, just dark — and then it wasn’t.” Shepard reached out for her, tears trembling along her lashes, and gripped her mother’s hand until her fingers ached. 

“So that’s my toast,” said Hannah a moment later. “To friends, to family — and to light. Merry Christmas.” 

“To light.” 

“To light,” said Shepard, her voice barely making the air shiver. 

*** 

After everyone else had gone, Shepard stood with her mother in front of the window, leaning her cheek on the top of her mother’s head. Later, she would go back to missing Lamia, the feeling like a rock in her boot, but its tide was out, and all she felt was the mellow ache of nostalgia. 

“Thank you, Mom,” she whispered. “That was…perfect.” 

“I’m glad.” Hannah sighed, and hugged Shepard closer. “Is there anything else you want to do? It is Christmas, after all.”

Shepard shook her head.  _This_ felt like Christmas, the quiet and the closeness. The two of them, breathing in unison and watching the stars. “Can we just stay here for a while?” she asked. 

“Of course we can,” said Hannah. “As long as you want. Merry Christmas, sweetie.” 

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” 

*** 

Garrus opened his eyes. Shepard’s hands moved over his carapace in slight, apologetic circles. 

“It’s not a great story, I know,” she whispered. “Nothing exciting happened, I just…it was a good day. A perfect day.” 

“Shepard.” He covered her hands with his. “It’s fine. I — you were happy. And I think I understand now.” 

“About Christmas?” Shepard shifted her hands to his waist. “Or something else?” 

 _About you, and your mother, and your life before I met you_ , he thought.  _Before I found light._

“Both,” he said, and anything else he wanted to say got lost when Shepard curved her neck around to kiss his mandible. Garrus caught two fistfuls of her hair and drew her to his mouth, hungry and impatient for her. And yes, happy too, through to his bones, for the strangeness, and the quiet, and the peace, wrapped in her arms and hidden by the dark. 

*** 

“You won’t come down with me?” Garrus asked the next morning, as Shepard watched him dress for his watch. “I thought you’d like to see this Christmas thing, and all the horrors Weaver will unleash. Biotic varren, maybe.” 

Shepard laughed. “As much as I would love to see that — and I would — you should have that time with them. Without me hovering.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Besides, I’ve got a visit to make.” With her hands braced on his shoulders, she pulled herself up to kiss him. “I’ll be back,” she whispered into his mouth, and disappeared.

*** 

“You have to open it, boss,” said Weaver, like she was speaking to a very small, very stupid child. “It won’t unwrap itself.” 

Garrus stared at the package in his hands. Garish, flimsy paper covered it, fastened with bits of medical tape. “I see you had to improvise, Weaver,” he said, waving the package in her direction. “I hope you’re a little more careful when you’re dealing with explosives.”  

Sensat and Vortash snickered, each of them earning a glare from Weaver. “Ha-fucking-ha, boss. Seriously, you have to open it.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “Please?” 

The ever-present impulse to tease Weaver rose, swift and tempting, but Garrus forced it down and flicked her a smile. Weaver might never say  _please_  again, and he shouldn’t abuse the one time he heard it. “All right, opening it now.” He caught the look she gave Ripper and Monteague, the lift of her eyebrows as her smile sharpened into a grin, and picked off the first piece of tape. Before he got any farther, Mierin burst out laughing from the couch and kicked Weaver in the leg. 

“You little shit — you —“ She tumbled over against her sister, choking on her laughter. “ _Vaenia?_ The special edition? Really? How did you know?” 

“Your extranet history is my playground,” said Weaver, managing to look smug while rubbing her hip. “Sidonis, what do you think of yours?” 

Sidonis looked up from the pile of paper in his lap. “I’m…I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “I think it’s fabric, but I’m not sure.” 

“It’s a tartan,” said Butler, his voice strained. Sidonis blinked at him, mandibles fluttering, and Garrus caught the acrid scent of confusion, mixed with something light and musky. 

 _Oh, not going there, not tonight,_ he decided, and ignored the smell. 

“You’re not unwrapping, boss,” said Weaver. She scooted closer and nudged his foot with the toe of her boot. “If you’re having trouble, I can do it for you.” 

Garrus gave her a blank look. “Thank you, Weaver. I think I’ve got it.” 

“If you say so.” She leaned forward as he started to pick at the paper again, taking his time to watch her squirm. 

When the final layer fell away — he made a mental note to ask Shepard later if all humans mummified their Christmas gifts, or just Weaver — he stared at the scope in silence until Weaver nudged him again. 

“Boss?” 

“The Mark-2 silencer scope,” he said. 

Weaver nodded. “Just hit the market. Best scope out there. Universal design, so it’ll fit every rifle you’ve got.” She shifted onto her knees and pressed a button on the side of the scope. “But I added a new feature. Hit this, and it’ll slave everyone else’s weapons on your target with a five-second delay. So if we’re in cover, on a precision strike, we can hit one target with everything we’ve got. You know, for like, if we see Garm again.” She rocked back onto her heels, so young, so eager to please. “You like?” 

“I like,” said Garrus, his brain already ticking away mission possibilities. He shoved them all away, and put his hand on Weaver’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, subvocals rumbling a deeper gratitude meant only for family, and Sidonis coughed and shifted, his own voice echoing Garrus’. 

Weaver flushed and touched his hand briefly before pulling away, already scolding Melanis for not opening her present yet. Garrus watched her go, his gaze traveling over the rest of the squad. 

 _To light_ , he thought. 


End file.
